


Mirror shards

by applecup



Series: As if through a looking-glass [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecup/pseuds/applecup
Summary: Prompt fills for A Mirror, Darkly-verse





	1. Fluffy prompts: Shopping List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy prompt: 13. Trying to make a shopping list and the other person keeps making ‘important’ suggestions to see how much attention the other one is paying, for the Sith!Quinn AU. - riajade01

Lieutenant Illte had never quite gotten used to the idea of Quinn joining her when she was working on the never-ending supply of administrative work the Imperial army demanded of her. To begin with, she’d been convinced it had been a scheme to check up on her - to make sure she wasn’t just watching terrible holonet dramas and eating all of the snackfood, as much as there were far more comfortable places to do both of those things than the conference room table. She usually had a cafetiere, something which she was certain was part of the appeal - a suspicion which was largely confirmed one morning after a second cafetiere appeared in the galley’s cupboards next to hers. She could take a hint, though - simultaneously resenting the unspoken command to make a second pot for him, and glad that at least this meant he would not be helping himself to hers. 

It helped, perhaps, that he was frequently absorbed in his own datapad - whether reading something, or working on writing up something that had his own attention. He certainly didn’t try to inflict conversation on her while she was trying to focus on her work, and Eirn had to admit that having company that wasn’t a constant stream-of-consciousness could be nice - even if that company _was_ a Sith Lord. Sith Apprentice. Sith Whatever-his-rank-technically-was. 

On this particular day, though, in this particular moment, any comfort she’d found in this arrangement was rudely shattered as she reached for her mug absent-mindedly, going to take a sip and ending up regretting everything that had led up to this moment in her life. 

‘Is everything alright, Lieutenant?’ Quinn, who was sat opposite her, even looked up from whatever on his datapad had his rapt attention - apparently she’d either made some distressed noise she was unaware of, or had been so badly disappointed by her caf that it had caused a disturbance in the Force. 

‘Other than the caf, my lord,’ Eirn replied, still grimacing - Imperial instant caf was not the best at any temperature, but when lukewarm, it was particularly offensive. It was worse, somehow, than when it was stone cold - at which point she’d never felt bad at simply tipping it into the disposal - or when it was hot, at which point the temperature drowned most of the terrible things about its taste. 

(under the table, her legs were stretched out, at rest, and she could feel one of Quinn’s boots resting next to one of hers; she shifted a little, suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that they were touching - that she should probably _move_ , she realised, even if she wasn’t certain quite how to do so without drawing his attention - or, for that matter, that she really wanted to) 

'With your permission, my lord,’ she added, 'The next time we’re docked with somewhere civilised, I’d like to use ship funds to get us some decent caf.’ 

Quinn studied her, for half a moment, before nodding his assent. 'Of course, Lieutenant.’ And then: 'Perhaps we should take the opportunity to stock up on other supplies, as well. I noticed this morning we’re out of fresh fruit.’ 

'I’ll make a list, my lord,’ Eirn replied - sighing, a little. One more task she’d apparently fallen into. 'Caf, fresh fruit - pomfruit, my lord? And… Kaasi plums?’ she mused, grabbing around in her memory for what she knew that Quinn ate - other than Imperial ration bars. 

(Quinn, she realised suddenly, was entirely aware of the fact that their feet were touching - because he’d quite deliberately squeezed her foot with one of his; gently, yes, and briefly, but for that brief moment all that she could think of was the fact that he was _touching her_ ) 

'Tea, of course,’ Quinn added, half to himself. 'Any medical supplies we need…’ 

Eirn just busied herself in making notes as Quinn talked - tried not to think about the fact that when she _did_ attempt to shift, she just ended up drawing her boot along what felt like the entire length of Quinn’s foot - what felt like _far_ too slowly, and- 

'Tea,’ she repeated, risking a glance across at Quinn - who was watching her quite intently, she realised, and she averted her gaze just as sharply as she’d glanced at him to start with. _Get a grip, Illte._

'Whatever that sugary rubbish is that Vette eats,’ Quinn was musing, as though there was nothing amiss at all; gently drawing his own foot around Eirn’s, in the opposite direction than she was moving - before momentarily squeezing her toes, just the tiniest amount. That was an invitation she found impossible to resist - absent-mindedly stroking his foot, in return - gently enough to not be _too_ forward, firmly enough to be deliberate. 

_Sugar_ , Eirn’s list read, _Vette_. No, she realised, that wasn’t right. Kriff, woman, _focus_. 

'Stun cuffs,’ Quinn was continuing, in that same thoughtful tone of voice, 'Boot polish…’ 

Eirn paused, halfway through writing them down - looked back to Quinn, finally, who still had her fixed with one of his impossibly intense stares - even if there was a slightly impish smile on his face, accompanying it. 

'If you want stun cuffs, my lord,’ she replied, not nearly as in control of herself as she might have liked, 'I believe there is at least one pair kept in the armoury.’ 

'Really?’ Quinn replied - sounding intrigued, as much as she immediately hated him at the realisation that he _must_ have known. 'You’ll have to show me, Lieutenant.’ 

Eirn, not for the first time in her life, was extremely grateful that Sith did not blush; it was bad enough that her stumpy browstalks were trying to curl ever further in on themselves, and she was red enough as it was. 

'If you will excuse me, my lord,’ Eirn just replied - not gracing anything he’d just said with a response, 'I am going to make a fresh pot of caf.’ 

She started to leave, at that, too - but not before giving his own foot one final playful squeeze from both of hers, before finally withdrawing her legs so that she could stand. He might have gotten the last word above the table, but she’d be damned if she’d let him get the last one under it, too. 

'Lieutenant,’ Quinn replied, his tone still amused, 'Aren’t you forgetting something?’ 

She frowned to herself, not getting it - before Quinn, finally, offered her his own all-but-cool cafetiere. 

'Of course, my lord,’ she replied, sighing theatrically - but taking it all the same, and wishing - not for the first time - that the crew fresher had a _cold water_ setting.


	2. Tarantism/Basorexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantism ('The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing') for sw/quinn or Basorexia ('An overwhelming desire to kiss.') for the sith!quinn au - anon

‘Lieutenant. May I?’

Eirn had been half asleep - half wallowing in a hangover that was half-serenaded by a recording of the Adasta Symphony Orchestra, half rereading a half-written mission report that she half wanted to shoot out the airlock and never think about again. Quinn approaching her at the conference table while she was working- wasn’t unheard of, though he usually wasn’t at a half bow, one hand extended in a gesture of invitation.

'As we didn’t manage to last night,’ Quinn added, and Eirn realised that he was - extremely belatedly - asking her to dance. It was ridiculous - _he_ was ridiculous (was she any better?), but when Eirn laughed, it was a shy, nervous laugh.

'It would be my honour, my lord,’ she replied - taking his hand, happy to abandon lukewarm instant caf for the arms of her Sith. 

The intimacy of it was simultaneously novel and comforting, and Eirn wanted to wrap herself up in it, even as she was glad for the space that he allowed to exist between them. His hand on the small of her back was as chaste as it was forward, and the other - skin against skin, their fingers woven together in a way that made her breath hitch - held her without trapping her, the kind of possession that hinged on the desires of the possessed. When she glanced up at him, it was to see that he was looking back down at her with the sort of cautious, nervous desire she’d been simultaneously terrified and wildly hopeful he might share; that the freckles that his tan had brought out were still dotted across his nose and cheeks - that his eyes, for all she hated their unnatural colour, darted nervously over her with an openness she hadn’t expected to ever see in Sith. It wouldn’t have taken much to close that distance, and after a moment she tried, shifting a little - testing the waters (realised, at that, she held his hand a little tighter than she had to; that his own breath hitched as he realised she’d shifted closer, and that he pulled her closer still in turn) - when he didn’t just do that but closed the distance himself, taking her actions as assent for his own until they were close enough that she could have sworn she could feel his heartbeat through her uniform, that if she shifted her head a little she could feel his breath on her skin and all she could think about was pressing her lips to his as they tingled with the very best kind of anticipation, the both of them still moving gently in time to her music, their bodies in perfect sync and his breath on her skin and her heart pounding hard enough to burst and-

'Hey, Eir, did you use up the last of the caf, or- oh no wait gross sorry leaving now bye.’ 

Vette spun on her heel and left as soon as she spotted them, but the moment was already shattered - they’d both already pulled sharply apart, Quinn turning almost the same shade of red that she was.

'I’m- forgive me, Lieutenant,’ Quinn started, immediately descending into nervous babble, scrabbling for ridiculous apologies. 'I- didn’t-’ he started to add - looking at her like nothing quite so much as he was a rabbit trapped in headlights, as endlessly ridiculous as that was for any Sith.

'I-’ Eirn started - getting no further than that syllable, stuck mostly on the memory of him all but pressed against her, on the closeness that she was craving now it was gone and the abruptness with which it had been shattered.

'You were- working. I should not have interrupted. I will- let you return to your duties,’ Quinn managed, not even giving her a chance to reply before he turned and fled.

Eirn, for her part, just wanted to shoot her report out the airlock more than ever.  



	3. Force-Sensitivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Discovery that the OC is force-sensitive (as AU if the OC isn’t normally) for officer!Eirn, requested by ikarra_lives on tumblr

_Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck._

( _Pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. That works, right? Fuck. Shit. Fuck._ ) 

( _This isn’t happening. I can go back to bed and not think about this. Sleep, and maybe this won’t have happened in the morning._ ) 

(She went back to bed, and lay awake thinking about it for the next six hours.) 

\- 

Eirn knew a lot of things about being Sith, even if she probably wasn’t supposed to. 

She knew it was tough. She knew it was compulsory. She knew that Academies were cruel places, run by Overseers who made the harshest drill sergeants look like nursery nurses by comparison. (she knew that was at least partially propaganda, but didn’t doubt for a second that the closer one got to the repulsive centre of the Sith orthodoxy, the more true this was). 

She knew, all the way through her morning PT in the predictably sterile loneliness of Quinn’s cargo bay, that it was only a matter of time before someone found out. Before someone found _her_ out. They’d think she’d lied for years, she realised; that, or she’d immediately be turfed out into Korriban’s sands, left to fend for herself on that hateful dustball with only fear and incompetence between her and the yawning void. 

_Why me. Why now. Fuck the fucking Force I fucking hate it fucking with my fucking life-_

\- 

She tried to repeat the Incident, alone in the fresher - prayed it wouldn’t work, that she could attribute the- _Incident_ to a- malfunction with the artificial gravity. A sleep deprived hallucination. A misremembered dream. Some combination of the above. 

(There was still a scuff mark on the wall that proved it had happened at all, but she was choosing to ignore as many inconvenient details as she could) 

\- 

_Alright, Illte. Focus. You can do this._ Pause, and then: _This isn’t a_ zit _, Illte. You can’t just slap some fucking concealer on the fucking_ Force _, for fuck’s fucking sake-_

At least she could autopilot her way through making caf; pray that caffeinating herself might give her the energy and focus to deal with this with anything more productive than a stream of unhelpful profanity. 

‘Good morning, Lieutenant.’ 

Quinn, of course, scared the hell out of her - she actually _screamed_ , dropping her mug and instantly acutely aware that everything about this had been a mistake- 

(- _fuck shit fuck it’s dropped it’s gonna fucking smash it’ll be hot fuck shit i’m_ -) 

-except it didn’t, it just hung there, stupidly, her caf all over the floor but her mug hovering impossibly above it and Quinn was staring at it almost as much as she was - at least until he reached across and, incredibly gingerly, tried to tug it out of position with one hand. No dice; it wavered a little but, until she looked to him (her own expression one still of raw and naked terror; his own a sort of warily concerned) remained determinedly in place. 

‘Lieutenant?’ he managed - his voice as much strangled as it was anything else. ‘Is that-’ he added, a little stupidly, ‘Did you-?’ 

Eirn did not have anything she could say to that, so instead, she burst into tears. 

-

Things that did not help: Quinn making her caf. _Quinn_. Making her caf. 

Well. Maybe the droid made it. She had no idea. He’d ordered her to go sit down in the conference room while he found the droid to deal with the mess she’d made, and she’d numbly obeyed, slumping into the seat she usually ate her breakfast at and failing quite entirely to not consider in great detail scenario after grisly scenario about the ways this would end in her painful, messy demise. She didn’t even notice that he’d entered until he put a mug of caf almost in front of her before taking a seat opposite, and it took long enough to sink in that anyone else was even there that he was seated before she finally pulled herself together enough to mumble a deeply embarrassed, ‘Thank you, my lord.’ 

It was little comfort that Quinn did not look as though he knew how to reply to that, exactly - never mind how to begin this uncomfortable conversation.

‘What happened,’ Quinn began, uncertainly - not a question, not yet, anyway - ‘In the galley-’ 

'I’m sorry, my lord,’ Eirn blurted out - she’d made a _mess_ and he’d had to take responsibility for cleaning up and that was _her_ job and _he_ was the Sith, here, and- 

'Lieutenant,’ Quinn just replied - impossibly calm, 'I- know what you’re going through. If-’ 

_No_ , Eirn thought to herself wildly, _you fucking_ don’t _, all this means is that i’m going to fucking_ die _and-_

'I don’t-’ she started - looking back to her mug, at that - trying not to focus on it in case she did anything accidental, again, and mostly just trying not to be strangled by her own fear. 

'If you can truly,’ Quinn started, 'Use- the Force, Lieutenant, I-’ 

'Don’t,’ she babbled, 'Make me- please, I’ll do anything-’ ( _almost anything-_ actually _anything?_ ) ’-just- don’t-’ 

'Lieutenant,’ Quinn repeated ( _why_ , Eirn thought, abstractly, _doesn’t he ever use my fuckin_ name _-?_ ) 'You know that I have no choice in this matter. The law is quite clear.’ 

Become Sith, truly Sith, or die trying. It was the second part that Eirn had always been grateful her status as _runt_ protected her from; not just death, but the manners in which Sith tended to die. (The manner in which she knew she would, were it a road she was forced down; the way her mother had always seemed as afraid, as Anya blossomed in the Force, as she was proud) 

'My lord,’ Eirn repeated (whined, even to her own ears) ’ _Please_ -’ 

'I will teach you,’ Quinn added, ignoring her whine entirely. His voice, for once, was not irritable; no condescension, no judgement. No kindness, though, either; just that sort of firm, near-dispassionate authority that he assumed when studying where best to lay his pieces on the board. 

'If you agree,’ he added, 'Of course. If not- I will- well,’ he sighed, 'I- you must know, Lieutenant, what the law requires.’ 

_Well,_ she tried to tell herself. _Better Quinn than the likes of Baras._ Cold comfort as that was. 

'I do,’ she managed, though - numbly, and a little distantly. _Why me._ 'My lord.’ She knew; she agreed, entirely unwillingly. What choice did she have? Learn at Quinn’s heel, or that of an unknown Overseer in an Academy. At least Quinn was a known variable; perhaps he could even be persuaded to keep it between the two of them, at least for now. 

'Lieutenant,’ Quinn added - pausing, this time, when she looked sharply up across the table at him - flinching, even, though she had no idea at what. 'The Force is a gift to be welcomed, not a curse to be feared. It is- your birthright, even. Far more than it is mine.’ 

'As you say,’ Eirn just replied, her heart not in it in the slightest, 'my lord.’ 

She just wished she could believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as with most prompt fills, this is not canon ;P


	4. Conversation between Eirns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lt Eirn talking to Sith Eirn - requested by fancyfade on tumblr

Sleep was rare in the Tatooine heat; restful sleep, rarer still, and Lieutenant Illte didn’t fancy her chances of getting rest at the Varoshe outpost any more than at any other point in their journey. Still, they had an early start - as if this was any change from the norm - and Eirn knew better than to not at least _try_ to sleep. 

She’d almost given up, though, when she felt the temperature start to rise again - realised that the suns would be rising, soon, and that morning on Tatooine was once again upon them. When she cracked her eyes open, though, all she saw was the sandy oasis that she’d been supposed to be watching over Quinn at - and a very bemused Sith woman, who looked incredibly familiar in a way that Eirn had no idea how to place. 

‘Okay,’ the other Sith started, 'You’re new.’ 

Which rather took Eirn by surprise. 'Excuse me?’ 

'You’re not- usually visions look more… Sithy,’ the other Sith finished, gesturing towards Eirn - who was not exactly a paragon of Sithitude. 

Eirn glanced down at herself at that, though - was only marginally relieved to note that she was in uniform, rather than her pyjamas. This did nothing, however, to explain what was going on. 'I’m- not a vision,’ she replied, as irritated as she was confused. 'I-’ 

'Then- what are you?’ the other Sith replied, studying Eirn warily. 

_What_ , Eirn snarled - swallowing back the defensive snarl and fixing the Sith with as defiant a glare as she dared. 'I am Lieutenant Eirnhaya Illte of the Imperial Armed Forces.’ She paused, glancing over the Sith - noticed the lightsaber at her hip, and added a slightly sour, ’ _My lord_.’ 

The other Sith - whose familiarity, Eirn realised, wasn’t just in how she looked (but why did she almost-recognise this woman? The scar across her face, her short, boyish hair-) - looked taken aback by this.

'Lieutenant-?’ the Sith repeated, a little stupidly - before some kind of comprehension finally dawned. 'I- see. You’re- you don’t- I am Lord Eirnhaya Illte,’ the other Sith added, 'the Emperor’s Wrath. Sort of,’ she finished, rather awkwardly. 'I’ve never- usually- visions know what they are, but I’ve never-’ 

'I’m not a _vision_ ,’ Eirn repeated, _'my lord_ ,’ - about to add something further when she paused abruptly. Wasn’t this the oasis where Quinn had seen _his_ vision? What if this was something similar? (But why would it have waited until now? And why _her_ -?) 

_Or sunstroke. It’s sunstroke, Illte. Not the Force._

'Neither am I,’ the maybe-other-her replied - studying Eirn, _scrutinising_ her. 'And- you don’t have to call me that. You’re- _I’m_ \- really in Army?’ 

_That_ made Eirn glare defensively. 'I don’t have much choice,’ she replied, sourly. 'I wasn’t lucky enough to be born with the Force,’ she added, 'And there’s only one fate worth having, in that case.’ 

The other-her actually flinched, at that. 'Sorry,’ she replied - a ridiculous word, for any Sith. And then: 'I- wasn’t either, you know. Born with the Force, I mean. This is- weird,’ she added, before sighing. 'You’re- you must be- who I’d be if I hadn’t- gotten it,’ she finished, slightly limply. 

Eirn wasn’t sure how much of this she believed - how much she could put down to sunstroke, how much was bizarre dream. The Force showed visions to some, sure - but she’d never heard of anything like this, and- well, Force-sensitivity wasn’t a trait that got one sent to a _military_ academy. 

'So- when did you get the Force? I- my lord,’ Eirn added, her dubious, wary curiosity getting the better of her. 'If- you don’t mind-’ 

'I was twelve,’ the other-Eirn sighed. 'And- you don’t have to call me that. Seriously.’ 

'Twelve.’ Eirn repeated it before she could stop herself - studied the not-quite-her’s expression as closely as she dared, trying to puzzle out what made them so different - and if, for that matter, she really wanted to know. 

'I hid it,’ other-Eirn admitted, 'At first. I was- scared. Embarrassed. And- then I got found out, and- the rest is history,’ she sighed. 

'You- didn’t want to use it?’ Eirn replied - a little afraid of what the reply might be, in truth. 

'Not at first. Not for a long time,’ she sighed - refusing to meet Eirn’s gaze, she realised. Still embarrassed? 

'So- what changed your mind?’ Eirn asked - curious and wary in equal measure, though the former was currently winning out. 

The other-Eirn didn’t reply to that for a long moment; just stared slightly distantly at where the horizon would be as she thought to herself. 'I don’t think anything did,’ she replied, eventually. 'But it’s- part of who I am. Like it or not.’ 

None of which was very reassuring, and Eirn had to admit that- if this _was_ some kind of strange Force-made connection to another-her, and not sunstroke-induced delirium, then it wasn’t doing much to inspire faith in that Force. 

'What about you?’ the other-her added, though - focusing on Eirn, at that. 'You don’t- at all?’ 

Eirn shrugged awkwardly, not enjoying the sudden focus on her in the slightest. 'If I did,’ she replied, 'I’d have been dragged to an Academy by now.’ 

'Not a fate to be wished on anyone,’ the other-her replied, smiling dryly. 'But you do serve a Sith,’ she added, glancing at Eirn’s uniform. The pips on her collar would be impossible to miss - made her a target as much as anything else, and Eirn _knew_ it. 

'He’s… difficult,’ Eirn admitted, sighing to herself. 'I thought he was- better than most Sith, but-’ 

'All Sith are Sith,’ the Sith-her replied - smiling wryly when Eirn gave her a defensive, accusatory glare. 

'Even you?’ Eirn replied, before she could stop herself - _even you_? she asked herself, and wondered if this was a question she really wanted the answer to. 

'I have my moments,’ Sith-her admitted, after a moment. 'I’m not proud of them. Academies- rot you, inside. So,’ she added, with a sort of forced brightness, 'It’s probably for the best you’ve avoided them.’ 

'Sorry,’ Eirn just replied - apparently she’d stumbled onto something painful, even if the not-quite-her just shrugged casually in response. 

'As far as your Sith goes,’ the Sith-her added, 'Just- remember what dad always said.’ 

’ _Masur, saraai._ ’ In pain, truth. It wasn’t a turn of phrase that Eirn had ever been fond of, even if the wisdom in it was impossible to ignore. The moments when one’s higher functions were short-circuited, whether through fear or anger or inebriation or- well, pain - were the moments when one’s character was exposed, along with all its ugly truths. 

'I was going to say _go for the kidneys_ , but that works, too.’ The other-her was giving her a smile that actually seemed genuine, this time - and slightly impish, with it, though it faltered when Eirn caught her gaze. 'He hasn’t- hurt you, has he?’ she added - her expression folding into something much more serious. 

'No,’ Eirn sighed - not unless she counted the injury during their sparring match, and she mostly held herself responsible for that. 'Not- me,’ she added, guiltily. 

'But- someone you care about,’ other-Eirn replied - reading her like an open book, apparently. 

'Someone I feel responsible for,’ Eirn sighed - entirely unable to meet the other-her’s gaze, at that. 'I don’t think he- even realises, but then- I wonder if he does realise, and just doesn’t _care_ , and…’ 

'All Sith care about something,’ Sith-her replied, 'Even if it’s just themselves. If you’re looking to manipulate a Sith,’ she added, 'That’s probably your best place to start. Just- have a backup plan.’ 

'That’s the problem,’ Eirn sighed, before she could stop herself. 'He-’ he _was_ the backup plan, and it was doing a nice job of blowing up in her face. 

’ _Oh_.’ The other-her sounded, somehow, like this was a problem she understood all too well - did not, at the very least, sound like she was judgemental. 'Well,’ she added, that false brightness creeping back into her tone, 'One can never have too many backup plans.’ 

Which wasn’t a very helpful response, and the only response that Eirn could dredge up was a very dry look. 

'Look,’ the other-her added, 'I’m- not an Imperial, so I- don’t know what it’s like for you. But we both know a lot about being Sith. No,’ she added, as Eirn tried to protest, 'Don’t give me that crap. You were raised just as Sith as I was. You know the rules,’ she added, 'and you know you don’t need the Force to play by them. _Do as thou wilt, just don’t get caught_.’ 

Eirn just studied the almost-her for a long, wary moment - trying to puzzle out how serious she was being, and how much she should even begin to _think_ about taking this advice. 

'You sound just like mum, when you say that,’ she just replied, eventually - a deflection if there ever was one. It was true, though; almost true, at least. Her mother had always been insistent that Eirn was Sith, despite her… shortcomings in the Force - and Eirn’s own acute awareness, as she’d gotten older, that such insistences were more than a touch impolitic. 

It made the other-her snort, with something rapidly approaching laughter. 'It’s too bad I can’t introduce you to my crew. Or- just as well,’ she mused, 'One of the two.’ 

Her own crew.  Her own _ship_. Her own influence, her own power. The idea flittered, like a siren - deadly, seductive, and forever out of reach. 

'Do you hear that?’ the other-her added, though - frowning to herself, her gaze suddenly focused on the middle distance. 

Eirn went to reply that there wasn’t anything she could hear - and then paused, as she realised that- no, there was most definitely a ringing in the air that hadn’t been there a moment ago. A familiar- _far_ -too-familiar ringing, that only got more aggravating the longer it went on. 

'I think,’ she replied, after a moment, 'It’s my alarm clock.’ 

'Vile things,’ Sith-her replied. 'But I guess this means this is over.’ 

'Wait,’ Eirn started, 'What about-’ 

'Good luck, Lieutenant,’ other-Eirn just replied - interrupting her, before abruptly pulling her into a hug that was as genuine as it was brief. 'And may the Force ever serve you well.’ 

’ _But-_

\- 

The darkness of the sleeping quarters at Varoshe were just made all the more so after the bright sun of the oasis, and it took Eirn several moments of fumbling with it to get her alarm to shut up - none of which were made any more pleasant by the distinctly annoyed noises Vette was making from her own bunk. 

_Sunstroke, Illte. Definitely._ And then: _Or maybe there was something bad in that MRE. Or the jerky. That’ll teach you to eat local food, Illte._

Still, it was a nice thought. That someone out there understood her, even if it was someone who she’d only spoken to through an oddity of the Force. An unnerving one, if it _was_ the case - what place, exactly, did a Force-blind have to start being gifted visions from it? - but that, she resolved, was all the more reason to keep the perhaps-dream to herself. 

_Do as thou wilt, just don’t get caught. And may the Force ever serve you well._


	5. Eirn discusses backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hourglass meme (the muse talks openly about their backstory), for Eirn from the Sith!Quinn AU. requested by enbyrevan on tumblr
> 
> cw: referenced (non graphic) torture, vomiting

So. True story. My first day in Lord Baras’s service. Me, a Sith runt, in my officer training corps uniform, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the Citadel. As if I didn’t get enough stares. 

Anyway. Lord Baras is a… very hands-on Sith. For a Darth, anyway. And, I- well, I have the worst timing in the history of the Empire, because when I report to begin my shift, he’s elbow-deep in what I guess used to be a Republic spy. I say ‘used to be’, because- 

(this poor guy had been tortured to death - or so I thought. More fool me.) 

'Cadet,’ he snaps (and I’m already kacking myself, because who wouldn’t be? The only Force-blinds allowed in the Citadel are there at the pleasure of the Sith, and Sith pleasure is _never_ good), 'Deal with this mess.’ 

He storms off before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, leaving me with this dead Pub and some human Sith who I didn’t recognise, but I guessed was one of his apprentices (correct guess: this asshole turned out to be Lord Ba'al, before he got the scars). 

Anyway, I’m trying to figure out how to ask the apprentice for a pointer or two when the ex-Pub turns out to actually still be with us - by making this unholy groaning noise that scared the shit out of me - not quite literally, but it might as well have, because Baras’s dickhead apprentice immediately starts _laughing_ , and asking in the most sarcastic, patronising manner he can if I need a hand 'dealing with this mess’. 

(All I can think about, meanwhile, is the poor sod that Baras had been 'interrogating’ - some fucked-up gratefulness that I hadn’t seen the main show, and trying to grab at some way to get the fuck out of there and never look back) 

Anyway, that’s how I ended up throwing up in front of Baras’s apprentice, who found the whole thing fucking hilarious - so much so that he relayed the whole thing to his Master, who made this whole patronising speech about how obvious my deficits were, and how any Academy would have eaten me alive, as though I didn’t already fucking know that. 

Stars, but I fucking _hate_ Sith.


End file.
